Elemental Slayer
by Peta2
Summary: Sequel to Show Me Something Blue. Set at the beginning of Season Five but will branch off-canon. Spike is in LA and about to return to Buffy when he runs into some trouble. A new threat to the Slayer appears, bringing his own brand of blackmail an
1. Prologue

For months the bastard had stayed out of his hair, pretending that he didn't have a score to settle and allowed Spike the freedom of the night—well, within reason obviously, being that the chip hampered his ability for true freedom

**Prologue**

For months the bastard had stayed out of his hair, pretending that he didn't have a score to settle. He'd allowed Spike the freedom of the night—well, within reason obviously, being that the chip hampered his ability for true freedom—and his burgeoning conscience was tighter than any collar on the market. Months when Spike had avoided the pull that wanted him to make the Slayer's playground his permanent home, and months where Angel had conveniently not acted on his appearance in the City Of. It rightly cheesed him off no end that the pillock would choose the very minute he was about to zoom out of the place to collect on his right for vengeance.

Would wait until he'd made the decision to risk everything he knew just to be close to Buffy.

Not that being pissed off did him a damn bit of good now that he was chained to a wall and starved of light from even the barest bulb. His belly grumbled hungrily and Spike could feel the pinch of fangs against his gums, fighting an irrational yet escalating fury he had no one on which to take it out. No chance to do damage to anything but himself against the unrelenting strength of stone wall.

Angel had left him to stew. Other than that first malicious sneer, Spike had been deprived of further sight of his host. It hacked him off. He had things to do, places to be, and once again Angelus made him feel more helpless than a kitten. A more cynical vamp might even wonder if he'd been forgotten—left to fester in the dark like the inconsequential vamp granpappy obviously thought him to be.

Good thing Spike wasn't a cynical vamp.

Spike snorted.

No two ways about it, the Grand Poobah Of All Things Righteous had thrown him into the dungeon and marched off for a sale on hair gel. Bastard never could get enough of the stuff. The punishment was wholly unlike anything Angelus had dished out in the past and Spike was left to surmise what event had apparently derailed his grandsire's obvious intent of revenge.

Not that he wasn't grateful. As fun as it had been to poke the poof full of holes, he hardly felt the amusement in the act being reciprocated.

It was too quiet in this damp, underground pit. Other than his own exclamations of irritation, Spike had gone days, if not weeks—time was hard to judge without even the scent of the sun to guide him—without one meaningful sound.

It was harsher torture than any he'd ever experienced before.

The first days had seen his struggle to pull himself free of metal and rock—and his failure. Time since, his strength had waned—hunger dug deep into his belly until his whole body screamed to be fed.

Unfortunately for him, no one was listening.

Thoughts of Buffy barely kept him focused on his objective: to get out and away from Angel and return to her—whether as her lap dog or her lover. Right now he wasn't particularly choosy. Just the thought of seeing her gorgeous face again brought pangs of bittersweet torment. Only some painful smacks of his head against stone stopped his inner wanker from sprouting forth and turning his prison into a scene of unmanly waterworks.

On what appeared to Spike to be a fairly regular revolution of time, he relived his certainty that someone would eventually come for him.

Friend or foe? He just wished he bloody well knew.

She was being followed.

Memories of her mother's clipped and terrified warnings slipped into the background of her mind as she crept forward, adrenaline thundering through her body and giving her that strength she needed to make it out of the alley alive. Her mother was wrong, anyway. This was what she was meant for—what she'd been born for. Sure, that she'd been an accident—implied with embarrassment on more than one occasion—couldn't register when she was feeling like this. When death was baring down on her back and a vampire was sharpening his claws just waiting to get a piece of her.

When she stopped and turned, the proximity of her prey made her breath catch. No matter how fast she moved, they were always faster. Always stronger.

They never expected the stake—no matter they were close enough to breathe their cold, harsh breath against her cheek.

Charlotte wasted no time, an imperceptible shiver of warning telling her that this was not a fight to be prolonged. When her wooden stake ploughed deep into the vampire's chest, his look of shock was almost more reward than the smattering of his dust on her hands.

A slow hand clap echoed from deeper down the alley and Charlotte waited, her breath caught in anticipation.

"Superb work, my darling girl. I've taught you well it would seem."

All pretence of being a slayer dropped from her shoulders and Charlotte whooped in excitement.

"Ethan!" she squealed before launching herself into her guardian's arms. "I've been waiting so long for you to come home."

The grief that flashed through her was short-lived and pushed immediately to the back of her mind. Her mother was dead and now the father she should always have had was here to take her away from this horrid city. Ethan had promised fresh air and lots of sunshine and she was determined to make sure he delivered. Determined to prove to him that she was everything he believed her to be—and more besides.

"You know I've had preparations to make. For what I have planned, ignorance would be the downfall of fools." His lips twisted into a self-satisfied smirk and he allowed his imagination to run wild.

"And you are never that." Charlotte preened against the man she'd always considered her father, despite her mother's numerous assertions that he wasn't. It didn't even matter anymore. The name of the man that had given her blue eyes and dry wit was a mystery on which she'd long given up. All she could see now was her future and she was happy to traverse it alongside Ethan for as far as he wanted to take her.

"You are too forgiving, my sweet." He clasped her hand in his and then tucked it through his arm, indicating they should move out of the darkened alley and into a more populated area.

Charlotte snuggled up to his side, almost too cosy for a mere daughter, but there was no mistaking her doting look. Ethan chuckled at the stars in her eyes and patted her hand reassuringly. He had important plans for his dear Charlotte and now that he'd seen how she handled herself without the benefit of slayer powers, he was even surer that his scheme would work.

"I hope you've packed?" Her quick nod reassured him. Ethan couldn't quite wipe the confident grin from his face. They'd swing by the flat and pick up what small amount of baggage he was sure Charlotte would have selected to accompany her for life and they'd be off. A plane trip away from the States, the Hellmouth and Rupert.

None of the three had a clue what was about to hit them.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter Two

**Chapter One**

No amount of retail therapy was going to make it easier to return to being plain old Buffy Summers, Slayer the. She'd had the most amazing convergence of power zinging through her body and it had allowed her to take out Adam like he was nothing more substantial than a moth. Now she felt empty and useless—ordinary—and it was the second most deflating experience she'd had lately. The first of course was that she'd lost the second vampire that had meant anything to her. Her stupidity had forced distance between her and Spike and Buffy still didn't fully understand why that fact made her ache inside.

Buffy flopped back on her bed, sucked in a huge breath and contemplated her ceiling. It was amazingly cobweb free and just that alone gave her a happy. Man she was pathetic. Just lying still, she could almost feel the remnant buzz of all that primitive power. It amazed her how it manifested. How connecting with her friends and Giles had made her into something that could beat anything—and with pretty butterflies to boot!

But with the end of the fight went the end of her power. They'd been damned lucky to get away with the spell at all, left exposed to the fury of freed demons and monsters as they had been. With no Spike to watch their backs.

Not that they needed Spike watching their backs—or their fronts. Especially not Buffy. She didn't need a coward who ran at the first sign of things not going his way.

A churning guilt in her belly pushed Buffy into a roll and she buried her hot, tear-streaked face into the comforter. This was the last thing she needed right now, feeling all vulnerable and alone. Thoughts of Spike had been brutally banished to that part of her brain she only visited on rare occasions when she was up for a bit of self-flagellation. It was kind of unexpected for Buffy to be reaching for those moments after one of the biggest highs of her life. She should be out celebrating, partying like it was 1999, but instead, here she was, alone and brooding.

Why did Spike leave her?

She knew the short answer. Riley. Not that her overbearing TA really had a shot so soon after the other romantic disasters of her life. But was seeing her at the Bronze with another guy really enough to send a chipped vampire into the world with nothing but his name to pave his way?

As much as she wished she could deny it, Buffy knew that being with Spike had started an emotional stir in her heart. Had he felt something for her as well? Was that why he hadn't wanted to stage their break-up? Was that why he'd run from Sunnydale faster than a roadrunner on speed at the possibility she might be interested in someone else?

She hadn't been. Buffy wasn't sure what Spike had thought he'd seen, but all she'd done was speak to Riley. She'd barely even noticed him there when she'd felt the vampire's approach.

These questions were going to make her head explode—she just knew it. Sniffling miserably, Buffy resolved to ignore the stab of longing for the black-clad thorn in her side. The sound of the doorbell was exactly what she needed to launch that objective and so she jumped from her bed, swiped at her face with the sleeve of her sweater, and bounced with determined peppiness down the stairs.

Flinging it open, the smile froze on her face as Buffy encountered the strangest looking courier she'd ever seen. Tan-coloured fur covered his hands and neck, his face startlingly bare except for the swollen green lips and luminous yellow eyes.

"Got a delivery for Buffy Summers," he informed, clucking his tongue impatiently as Buffy struggled to come to terms with the weirdness.

"That'd be…uh…me?" She shivered at his piercing glare and took a comforting step back inside and closer to a weapon.

"You sure about that, sweetheart?" The oily expression seemed shocking when teemed with the endearment and Buffy struggled against her revulsion.

"Um, yeah. The surest."

"Right. Sign here." He held out a clipboard and Buffy hastily scribbled her name and caught the smallish parcel the demon courier tossed her way. His focus had already left her as he jogged down the porch steps and back to his van. Gunning the engine, he was down the drive and spinning into the street in less time than it took Buffy to blink.

So she did it twice.

Closing the door on the bizarre experience, Buffy looked at the box wrapped unassumingly in brown paper, and frowned. It was no bigger than the palm of her hand. Perplexed, she walked to the kitchen and retrieved a sharp knife to cut open the seal. And it was with a sense of fascinated apprehension that Buffy held her breath and popped off the lid.

There was a note. The first thing she saw was a note with an old-fashioned script. Something about it caused a fire to rise to life in her stomach and her body flushed with wonder. Fingers shaking, she took out the sheet of folded paper with her name written prettily on the top flap, and sighed.

_Slayer,_

_Searched far and wide for a remedy to your little problem. Make sure you burn this paper as soon as you understand its intent, though, won't you, pet? Don't want the wrong sort to get their hands on it._

_This pendant is more than something pretty to adorn your neck. It will protect you against all those who might choose to impose their magical will upon you. No one will be able to look at it and identify its purpose. Your little witch friend might get a headache with trying to decipher its secrets, but she never will. To her, it's just a pretty accessory for your varied wardrobe, but it will keep you safe. You have my word on that._

_I can't make you wear it, luv, but I hope you'll do me the honour of doing this one little thing for you._

_Till we meet again,_

_Yours,_

_Spike_

As four long months had passed, following Spike's cowardly run from the Hellmouth, Buffy had been positive he'd forgotten all about her. How she'd believed that was slightly beyond her, being that Spike had proven on more than two occasions previously that he'd never surrendered his desire to kill her and make her his third slayer notch on his belt. Here was the evidence that not only had she remained on Spike's mind—to wherever he'd vanished—but that he was plotting ways to keep her safe and protected. And alive.

She could never have anticipated how happy that fact would make her feel.

Placing the letter from Spike safely on the bench for one more read-through before she destroyed it, as requested, Buffy poked her finger into the box and admired the pretty pendant. It looked old, a metal disk made possibly of brass, flattened around the edges to make it look Aztec in origin. Buffy fell in love with it at first sight, but the second it touched her skin she was warmed with the knowledge that this piece was sourced especially for her.

There was no argument in Buffy's head as she lifted the pendant and clasped it at the back of her neck. It fell heavily and low between her breasts and she shivered for the promise it held and the remnant touch of Spike. Closing her eyes to better savour this momentous occasion, Buffy breathed in deeply.

Spike hadn't forgotten her.

As happy tears stung her eyes, Buffy laughed out loud. There'd be no getting rid of him now that she wore his jewellery. Strangely, she was totally all right with that.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

It was a strange way to start the day, but as Dawn kneeled and said a quick prayer for her sister's safety, she couldn't help but think it was fitting. While perhaps not so strange for others, for the sibling of an incarcerated slayer, Dawn figured Faith should have a quicker link to the Higher Ups. Not that they'd ever shuffled their butt to help either girls out at all. Dawn derailed for a second, wondering if Higher Powers had something as human as a butt, shrugged, and finally allowed her mental gymnastics to catch up with the rest of her.

Knees aching but mission completed, she stood, looping her school bag over her shoulder like she had every other day of her teenage life. Life seemed weird lately, though. She'd caught people looking at her strangely and more than once she'd ducked around a corner, hopefully out of sight and employed the truthfulness of her purse mirror to tell her nothing was stuck between her teeth or smeared unattractively over her face.

And Buffy had been visiting more regularly. She'd even taken to arriving at Giles's place first thing to walk Dawn to school. It was totally cool showing up at school with Buffy. While she never admitted it to anyone, being Faith's little sister had its drawbacks. Like…being the relative of a murderer. No matter how hard and fast she tried to spin it in her head, Dawn could never convince herself Faith was innocent.

Faith had had it all: super-power strength, obvious sex-appeal, and a chest any pre-teenage girl would envy. Dawn only hoped that she inherited those same genes from their absentee parents. Not the psycho siding-with-evil-mayor genes, though. She so didn't need to be seduced by the dark side of Hellmouth life. Everyone looked at her strangely enough as it was.

The knock that rattled the door on its hinges could only have come from Buffy and Dawn quickly rushed down the stairs, smiling at Giles as he handed her a toasted pop tart and returned to burying his nose in the morning newspaper.

"Hey, Buffy."

The blonde smiled warmly at the young girl and not for the first time Dawn wondered why the Slayer had taken such a shine to her when Faith had caused her so much heartache.

"Hey there, midget. You ready to go?" Buffy watched as Dawn got so excited her hands began to flap and her smile nearly consumed her face.

"You mind if we raincheck? Jake Baxter asked me to ride to school with him in his new car." The enthusiasm dimmed fractionally as confusion settled on her face. "He _did _tell me the model and everything but you know, car. Who cares as long as it runs and I'm sitting in the front next to Jake?"

"Absolutely," Buffy agreed, mirth held barely in check. "Details should never stand in the way of young love. Off you go then. Scoot!" Buffy practically pushed Dawn's bouncing form toward the door, but the resistance was gone the instant a car horn broke suddenly through the quiet morning. Dawn slammed the front door and was gone in less than a second.

"That boy had better be worth it," Giles muttered dryly. "She's been barely holding herself together waiting for this morning to arrive." A paternal grin broke out on his face as he lifted his teacup toward his lips. "Anything newsworthy occur on patrol last night?"

Buffy shook her head no and flopped down in a chair opposite her watcher. "It's completely dead out there."

"Surely not," Giles teased.

"I'm completely serious!" The Slayer was obviously exasperated as she flung herself into a chair opposite her watcher. "Either there's something going on out there that I don't know about, killing all the demons before I can get to them—and lets _not _have a round of Initiative, the sequel—or they've all packed up and moved interstate." Buffy pouted.

They sat in quiet contemplation before Giles returned his teacup to its matching saucer and brought up the subject Buffy barely allowed to be spoken.

"Has there been any further contact from Spike?" It astounded him that his voice even now still held hope. Why he cared a jot whether the vampire lived to tell another tale or not was nothing short of confounding, but despite Willow's assertions the previous year to the contrary, he wasn't blind. He'd had long months watching his slayer pine for a relationship she'd never had the opportunity to lay properly to rest. Understanding and sympathising with her pain might have been a very un-watcher-like thing to do, but Giles felt quite grateful that he had that depth to his relationship with Buffy. He'd once been accused of treating her like a daughter instead of his charge, and he rather thought that, alongside Dawn, she was. And he'd go to the ends of the earth to see his girls happy.

Apparently, Spike could have made Buffy happy.

All his efforts to locate Spike had hit a figurative brick wall. One source had reported a sighting of the bleached vampire during a confrontation with Angel, but he'd not been seen since. A phone call had been placed immediately to Angel Investigations with a denial of knowing anything bouncing quickly from Angel's lips. Further phone calls had revealed a split in Angel's operation and Giles had found himself speaking rather often with his fellow watcher as Wesley settled into a non-Council influenced life. He'd gleaned no information whatsoever—but that didn't mean Giles didn't have a gut feeling about it all. Particularly on finding out about some of Angel's more questionable recent activities.

"No." Buffy stared at the table and Giles sighed as he observed a shaking hand reach for the amulet that fell from a leather strap encircling her throat. "It's like he just vanished. Is that normal?" He felt dreadful at how weak her voice was when she was consumed with worry. "I mean, he's a master vampire. Can he just disappear like that?"

Gathering his courage, Giles dropped the paper uselessly to the table and reached across to grasp one of Buffy's hands. "I don't believe so. In fact, I think I might know where he is…or at least…why he disappeared. I…I think Angel might have…detained him."

Buffy's face scrunched up in confusion. "Detained him? Like on those cop shows? Why would he do that?"

The watcher stared at her hand and wondered how many fingers she'd leave unbroken when he finally broke through the rose-coloured wall Buffy had spent years building around all things sacredly Angel.

"Buffy, Angel isn't quite himself lately. And I daresay, Spike i_did/i _torture him for the Gem of Amara. I'd be shocked if he chose to just let that slide by. Still…I've heard reports from Wesley and Cordelia—and some other person called Gunn—that Angel set fire to Drusilla and Darla."

The information was apparently slow to digest. Buffy took a few minutes before her eyes widened and her grip on his fingers became much more proactive. "Darla? But that's impossible. She became one with the dust years ago."

"There is a story," Giles began, feeling a monumental tightening in his frontal lobe that he'd have to kill soon with a bottle of scotch. "She was brought back to life, re-sired but this time by Drusilla, and has returned to a life of mayhem and murder. I'm very sorry that Angel hasn't bothered to keep us informed of this, but it would seem his mind is on other things. Quite possibly, torturing Spike for the hell of it."

"But…he set them to fire. That's what you said, right? So does that mean Dru and Darla are nothing but interesting pictures in the watcher books again?"

_iPlease say he killed them/i, _Buffy pleaded silently.

"I'm afraid not." Giles reached inside himself to deliver the final grim news. "Angel would appear to have changed, Buffy. He might not be Angelus, but his soul—his conscience—is quite obviously failing him. He's…allowed people to be killed by them. He's actually locked them in a room with some lawyers—that is, i_human/i _lawyers that he has apparently taken issue with. I fear that Spike may no longer be with us." He clasped both her hands tightly, his heart cracking at the slow tears that had formed in Buffy's sad eyes.

She raised them to him, her expression haunted, and he wished he could give her miracles.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

After three nights of surveillance, it didn't take a genius to work out that something big was plaguing the vampire. For an apparently soulful creature, he was infinitely cold. The one time he'd caught sight of her, Charlotte's heart had turned to ice. From then on she knew that Angel was aware of her—he just didn't care to do anything about it. He didn't give a toss who she was or what she was doing. He'd apparently assured himself of her heartbeat and classified her a non-threatening human. And one unworthy of protection—at this stage of his game, helping the helpless was something he was leaving entirely up to his discarded crew, should they still be interested in following that party line.

The danger of it gave Charlotte a thrill and with a glimmer of glee in her eyes, she continued to shadow him, taking note of his every ambiguous movement. Was he evil now? Sure, she'd heard of how he'd locked his sire and childe in a room of lawyers, but their boss wasn't exactly going to win any Saint of the Year awards. She had no doubt that each and every one of them had done as much evil as perhaps Angel had himself. His callousness toward his family, though, definitely shook her.

She'd not been there to see the actual event, but the burned and scarred vampiresses had crossed her path just once before going into hiding and she'd shuddered in horror at what a creature with a soul had done to others. That they were vampires and supposed to be dusted was beside the point. Family was a precious commodity that Charlotte herself had very little of and it shocked her that anyone—inhuman or not—could do something so wilfully evil to those with whom he'd spent many a lifetime.

It wasn't quite enough to dull her fascination.

Something about Angel attracted her like no other man she'd ever seen. That he was a vampire with a soul tricked her into believing she'd be ultimately safe around him—if she chose to pursue anything at all—but his recent behaviour sent shivers down her spine. He'd not killed a human, other than indirectly, which reassured her that some of his conscience still remained.

Not that she was ready for any decisions of that kind just yet.

It was poetic justice that the fate of this vampire was forever entwined with a slayer. Charlotte would make sure that his memory of Buffy Summers curdled like week old milk left out on the sill, and died. She'd make sure she twisted his thoughts on i_that/i _slayer so tight that the very mention of her name would make him shake with revulsion, not fall so deeply he risked any kind of happiness at all. Charlotte would make sure that when he settled into the vampire he was meant to be, it would be her that stood by him and championed him toward his goal—whatever that may be.

Ethan hadn't filled her in on all his plans—he'd only promised her she'd be more than a mere girl playing at being a slayer. She would be i_the/i _Slayer. There were no doubts in her head now that he cared for her as a daughter. That he was the doting father she never knew. Everything she'd ever wanted was being dangled in front of her nose and she was no fool to reject it. Though some of the implications did make her feel nervous.

Her thoughts had undoubtedly led her into darkness and Charlotte cursed. Following Angel blindly had left her in a precarious position. She stood in the middle of a very dimly lit alley, every sense screaming in awareness of the danger she'd unwittingly stumbled into. She didn't need slayer tinglies to know she was surrounded by too many vampires. If she made it out of this alive—which she seriously had her doubts—Ethan was going to kill her for being so careless.

They launched themselves from the shadows—not one at a time like she'd been used to back home, but all together like they'd tag teamed before. There wasn't time to scream for help and while the thought of needing it curled hatefully in her gut, Charlotte knew without a doubt she needed a miracle to step away from this.

Fighting with everything she had but quickly fading, said miracle swooped in with a black leather coat and in the form of an avenging Angel. Or maybe he was just intrigued. Blood streamed down her face and a sharp fang was teasing at her throat, and with one breath she fully believed to be her last, she was forcefully released and sent sprawling to the ground. Snarls and grunts of pain echoed around her before several clouds of ash fell across her body, leaving her gritty and dirty.

Choking on a new lungful of oxygen, Charlotte looked up in time to catch a vamped out Angel savagely punch the last vamp, the loud crunch an indication of a dislocated jaw, and then she was breathing dust yet again, coughing loudly in objection.

As she watched, her vision only slightly clouded by her own blood, his face calmed back into the smooth façade of a human and her breath was knocked from her again.

"You might fight like a slayer, but you aren't one. What the hell are you doing out here? And why are you following me? Last thing I need right now is a fan club." His scowl warned her against approaching him, but this opportunity was too precious so Charlotte stumbled to her feet, grimacing at her lack of slayer grace.

"Fan clubs only work if you have more than one fan. Not that I'd call myself a fan exactly," she admitted thoughtfully. "More an admirer."

The expression in his eyes got darker and Charlotte took a nervous step back, even though every bone in her body ached with the effort.

"Really? Because I'd have no problems classifying you as your pretty typical fan gone deranged. You've got the stalking thing down pat."

Like he had any room to accuse.

"Well, it takes a stalker to know a stalker, wouldn't you say?" she shot back peevishly. "Besides, in my line of work it'd be stupid to not study my prey."

"And what line would that be exactly?" he demanded. "The line between being alive or dead? Or just plain insane? Because I'm shooting blind, obviously, but until I stepped in a few minutes ago you were on the fast track to becoming dead."

"I'm going to pass on the obvious quip about your associations with insanity and get right to the point. I've been in training to be a slayer all my life. You never know when the current one will be cut down and the next one called." She watched closely for any tell in his eye—a shadow of hurt, a flash of anger—and was surprised when nothing at all registered. He was apparently a blank slate right now and Charlotte determined to work with that as avidly as she could.

"Not that I hate to be the bearer of bad news or anything, but aren't you a little old to be a slayer?" Amusement confronted her and Charlotte felt herself bristle irritably.

"I am seventeen. Perhaps not the youngest slayer on record, but nor is my time passed completely. I still have a chance." i_A really big chance, in the way that it was completely inevitable and going to happen no matter what./i_

He laughed at her, a short burst of humour that trickled down her spine and shook each of her bones. Then, finally, he was looking at her, his intent gaze seeing what her outfit promised of the body underneath and his eyes glittered in sudden interest.

"Well, you may not have the powers just yet, but you certainly have the tricks. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around again…?"

"Charlotte," she supplied eagerly, holding her hand out not to be shaken, but palm down so he'd be forced to kiss her. He took up her challenge, the ghost of time in his actions as cool lips slipped against her skin and his lips bestowed a dry kiss.

"Charlotte. A perfectly British name. It suits you." He nodded once abruptly, and then he was gone, leaping high in the air and catching hold of a drainage pipe. He swept quickly out of sight as he gained the roofline of the building they stood in front of and vanished from view.

Ethan's mouth opened, the horror pouring out of him in a silent scream. His wide and terrified eyes revealed deep torment and yet he clung to the bowl of blood that his now unconscious charge had allowed—had demanded—him to fill. It had bubbled for seconds before it had fallen still and the tortured visage of the spell caster was reflected in the still pool.

His skin bulged, untold creatures crawling beneath his skin as he clung to the essence of the spell and rode out the trial. He could bear this—he would make Charlotte what she was meant to be. And then he'd mould her into the slayer he i_wanted/i_ her to be.

Charlotte moaned softly and Ethan clutched hold of the bowl more firmly.

"I offer the essence of one most innocent and claim rightful direction of the spirit. Abandon the two who show their unworthiness and fill her body with your purpose." His voice formed the words around the pain that attacked his body and as he felt himself weaken, Ethan crawled slowly to Charlotte's collapsed form. They both resided inside a circle of sand and as it suddenly turned to flame around them, he looked anxiously to make sure no part of Charlotte would be touched by the fire. Reassured, he ignored the searing agony of his joints pulling apart, his flesh melting from his frame and his head about to implode and dabbed a shaking hand into the bowl, coating three fingers liberally with Charlotte's life force.

"I anoint you in the name of those elders that claimed the first slayer. I bestow upon you the ancient power to fight the demons and keep humanity safe from harm. I take from others that which they should not possess and begin the line anew from you, Charlotte…Clair…Giles." He coughed raggedly, blood spurting across his lips, and collapsed face first into the floor. The sacred bowl of blood spilled not a drop of blood, preserving the power of transfer as slayer essence drained from its two current hosts into one new one. Balance broke and the night was forever altered.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Buffy woke slowly, a cough tickling at her throat.

The alarm on her bedside clock had obviously sounded and switched off—or hadn't sounded at all—because not a mark reflected an angry slayer fist objecting to the time of day.

It was an effort to sit up in bed and Buffy realised she was sick. Her tummy felt woozy, her head was stuffed with cotton, her throat was raw and on fire, and just everything hurt. Nausea rose quickly as soon as she dragged herself out of her covers and found her feet, forcing her to the bathroom down the hall before she'd even had time to put on her fluffy pink piggy slippers. Retching drained her remaining strength and Buffy dragged herself up to rinse out her mouth and barely made it back to bed before she was unable to move her body any further.

She hadn't been this sick for a long time. In fact, it was so long she couldn't remember ever being this sick. Not even years ago when she'd landed in hospital had it seemed quite this bad—she'd been able to still get up and dress, heading off to patrol even if it was a crazy thing to do. Right now Buffy doubted she could pull her jeans on or find her shoes.

So, she didn't _have_ to go to class today. No biggie. It wasn't like things were going so well this year anyway. She missed sharing a dorm room with Willow, though. Right now some good old fashioned Willow concern would have boosted her spirits to be sure. It'd probably take at least until lunchtime before anyone even realised she was missing.

Buffy sighed, and then groaned at the pain that sigh cost her. Closing her eyes, she succumbed to the weakness that washed over her and fell back toward sleep.

"A new slayer has been Called."

Quentin Travers' news bounced around in his head for what felt like hours before Giles shook himself back to the present and fought to focus. "But…but what can that mean? Is Faith—?"

"I've already been in touch with the prison and Faith has been in the infirmary with some kind of fever since early this morning. She is apparently too weak to even move." The Head of the Council sounded mystified even as he relayed the facts. "I've had a Council doctor examine her. It would seem that Faith has lost all of her slayer powers."

Giles felt chilled. He was sure that he wasn't even residing in Sunnydale anymore, hearing Quentin's voice from a further distance than the phone at his ear. Buffy rushed to the forefront of his thoughts and hesitation battled with urgency to go and investigate how his own slayer faired this morning.

"I must go and find Buffy," he muttered, already trying to sift through his knowledge for a demon that could have done this.

"Rupert, whatever this is, it's powerful. I fear that it is magic of some kind. It's almost as if the slayer centre has been torn from Faith and left behind a frailer girl than when she first gained her powers. Just…be careful."

Quentin's uncommon concern lifting his spirits somewhat, Giles's thoughts suddenly snagged on one obvious piece of information relayed at the beginning of the conversation.

"The new slayer," he began, filled with trepidation. "Who is it?"

"Her name is Charlotte Robinson. You might remember her mother, Susannah?" The question was pointed and Giles knew it. Travers was stepping on a part of his past that he'd buried long ago—the Ripper phase—and it made him feel ill to revisit it in even this small a capacity. A name. A child he'd never been able to have. A decision ripped away from him as if he was as inconsequential as the dirt that decorated his shoe.

An unsteady hand rubbed at his forehead and Giles wished he'd had something stronger for lunch. His best bottle of cognac would have done the job nicely.

A word bounced around the inside of his head and hope flourished in spite of his greatest fears. 'Magic.' The amulet Spike had sent Buffy should have protected her against whoever had attempted something so dangerous and selfish as to strip a seasoned slayer of her power. For the first time he thanked the Powers for Spike and the wisdom the master vampire carried about him.

"I remember." The admission felt torn from his throat and Giles sat hard on the chair by the phone. He'd never forgotten Susannah. Never forgotten the pregnancy she'd ripped away from him the second he'd decided he could be a father. Within a week he'd found himself so disgusted by the sight of her that he'd taken the first bus back to London, railing against his own confused grief to put a chequered and destructive past as far behind him as he could.

Just the mention of her name threw him in a spin.

Emotions swirling pathetically inside, Giles cut the inquiry short and said goodbye, refraining with difficulty from slamming the phone back into its cradle.

Despite feeling a degree of confidence that whatever affliction Faith had suffered Buffy had escaped, Giles made his way to her campus housing with a gut twisted with worry. A quick call had been unanswered, but that might have meant nothing more than a sudden determination on Buffy's part to attend all her classes for the day.

He'd noticed a distinct dimming of Buffy's effervescent nature since Spike had taken his leave, and while initially Giles had been grateful Spike had done the responsible thing, he couldn't help but wish him back. At least for Buffy's sake.

He couldn't help but remember the fake engagement fondly. Buffy had never confided in any of her friends the true nature of the union, so Giles felt blessed she'd trusted him so deeply as to share the details—even if it was only once Spike had left her with an ever deepening well of confusion. In hindsight, he really had to congratulate the pair of them for their courage to put their dislike aside in order to fool everyone. If the wider community had worked out the damage that magic could perform on the Slayer, Buffy might have faced many unpredictable dangers. It went against everything he knew as a watcher to allow his slayer to stay in close contact with someone as powerful as Willow, but the amulet meant much more than protection for Buffy. It kept her safe from her own friends. That was worth more than anything in the world—even if it saddened him beyond reckoning.

Giles walked with partial familiarity to Buffy's new abode, smiling nervously to the young students that studied him with a knowing leer. He felt cheapened until he remembered he was her only paternal influence. Out puffed his chest as he glared at those that he felt challenged his right to come and visit his slayer.

His knock on the door went frustratingly unanswered. Looking at his watch, he discovered that it was past two and perhaps she'd gone from lunch to her afternoon round of classes. He hoped that's where she was as it would indicate no difference to her usual routine and would give him a much welcomed sigh of relief.

Just as he'd determined that this was indeed the case, Willow came at a quick walk down the corridor, her face creased with concern. Giles's every instinct indicating doom went on alert and he swallowed convulsively.

"Oh hey," the redhead said by way of greeting. "Buffy not answering?" Her tone betrayed both surprise and worry and the knot of foreboding that was twisting his gut into a series of knots increased.

"Not as such, no. I take it by your presence that she hasn't presented herself in class today?" It came as no surprise that he'd failed to keep the alarm from his voice, feeling only momentarily guilty at Willow's surge in concern.

"Worry not," she ordered, "for I have a key."

"Oh thank God," Giles breathed, sagging against the door as if he was a good twenty years older than he was.

The lock clicked and they both filed in, eyes immediately going to the slayer in the midst of some kind of nightmare, sweat making her hair cling to her forehead as her legs twisted jerkily amongst her bedcovers.

Giles knowingly looked to her bedside table and felt the world rock beneath his feet. The amulet sat next to a pair of hoop earrings, leaving Buffy as vulnerable in the night as a baby. Only whatever curse that had befallen her would have much more dire consequences.

Willow rushed forward, feeling Buffy's cheeks and forehead with the back of her hand before turning fearful eyes to Giles. "She's burning up, Giles. This looks worse than when she ended up in hospital. What could be wrong?"

The horror of the situation crashed over him and sent him fumbling for a chair, grateful to find one just inside the door.

"I fear that everything is wrong, Willow. Faith is experiencing the same illness. I…I believe…they've both been stripped of their powers." He had no inkling how Buffy would deal with this—if indeed she was supposed to make it through this malady. She'd claimed to want a normal life for as long as he'd known her. With a sense that only terrifying prospects stood before them, Giles turned to his slayer and held off the urge to weep.

"She's no longer the Slayer."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five

She'd felt so many of them, seen so many, _been _so many and it made Charlotte sing exultantly. Oh God, he'd done it. She was a slayer—_the _Slayer. The most powerful girl in the world. Her patrolling of evil-laden streets wouldn't be like it was, picking them off one by one, night by night. Now she could kick some royal vampire arse and take hours to heal instead of weeks.

Strength surged through her body, making her arch her back and gasp. Eyes closed, images of the last two lingered in her head as Charlotte watched their triumphs and mistakes. Buffy Summers came into focus, her childish love for a souled demon proving to be the final ingredient to altering the world. Faith—bold, brassy, deadly. The rush the brunette felt the second the blade sank deep into the human stayed with Charlotte, tricking her until the gush of revulsion at his blood as it spilled into her hands had its rightful impact.

When she came to, she found Ethan groaning in a pool of blood by her side. His lips were stained and for one confused moment she thought he was a vampire, her hand itching for a stake so she could bury it in his heart. But then he coughed and pushed himself up and his smile of relief that she was okay brought her back to the plan and she shuddered at the mistake she could so easily have made.

"Charlotte, my girl. You look…radiant," he whispered approvingly. He was paler than she'd ever seen him, weaker than a kitten, and yet he shoved himself to his feet like a king, swayed in place and then stumbled across the sacred circle and toward the double bed in the centre of the hotel room.

"Thank you, Ethan. You've given me more than anyone in my whole life ever has. I'll never forget how generous you've been." They both knew he'd not been entirely generous. Charlotte knew he had an agenda—she just didn't know what it was and with slayer strength now coursing through her veins and her troubled life firmly in her past, she was willing to be blind to his true intent.

"Think nothing of it," he muttered sleepily. In seconds he was snoring loudly and Charlotte was left feeling hemmed in and alone. There was no time that would better present itself for her to test her new powers, and while the night would soon be chased away for daytime, Charlotte knew of at least one vampire she could adequately test herself on. Again and again and again.

The fever had broken by nightfall, though Buffy didn't open her eyes until some hours closer to morning. Giles had commandeered Xander to help him relocate Buffy to his flat and now the lot of them had taken turns watching her for any signs of recovery. Just before her fever dissipated, they'd all started to ask each other if Buffy wouldn't have been better served in the emergency room at Sunnydale Memorial and Giles had commenced kicking himself for being so utterly stupid. With Buffy's continued weakness apparent, Giles entertained no doubts that Buffy had indeed become the normal girl she'd long craved. He'd already placed a lightning fast call to Quentin to inform him of Buffy's condition, grateful to leave a cryptic message with the Head's secretary that 'she is the same.' He didn't have the stamina to undertake a list of diagnostic tests to tell him what he already knew.

Buffy was no longer the slayer and he had no idea why.

Xander and Willow had fallen asleep long ago. Willow was sitting expectantly in the armchair, her face propped on her hand, and Xander leaned against the chair at her feet, his eyes closed but mouth wide open and rather disturbing to look at. Giles felt the burden of their current uncertainty nearly crush his shoulders as he stooped over, clasping hold of the amulet Spike had given Buffy and blinked back tears.

As much as Buffy claimed to want a normal life, he knew she wasn't going to take this reality well. Not after she'd been exposed to demons and the need for her skills in order to save human lives. The guilt of being too weak to do anything would crush her as surely as Angel's leaving had. As Spike's disappearance was. Giles wished he could take just one of the heavy loads Buffy had had to deal with and add it to his own. No girl as young as she should have to cope with so very much alone—and she was alone. She didn't share as much as she might and even though Willow thought she was privy to all Buffy's deepest concerns, Giles was willing to bet that at least one issue had remained absent from any of their girly chats. Buffy would never risk telling Willow about the situation with Spike—that their engagement had always been false but that Buffy's emerging feelings were not.

Giles cringed. His slayer falling for another vampire. He'd consider himself cursed if more important matters weren't immediately clubbing him over the head. And dare he admit it to anyone but himself, but he felt Spike's presence right now would be a comfort none of them could have ever foreseen. At least he'd have someone he could swear and drink with.

"Giles?" Buffy's weak, raspy voice broke the quiet of the room and Giles prepared himself for one of the most awful experiences in his life. "What's wrong with me?" She was struggling to sit up, looking around the dim room with fear before her eyes settled on her friends sleeping sitting up and registered their comical expressions.

Slowly he stood, feeling every inch an old man as he entered his slayer's line of sight. His eyes were haunted, his shoulders stooped and his right hand clung to the shape of his glasses.

"Faith has been in a coma in the prison infirmary, Buffy. The Council and I believe that…somehow…you've both been stripped of your powers. You are no longer the Slayer." Even though he thought he'd adequately prepared for all her potential reactions, Giles was almost brought to his knees at the stricken look blended with Buffy's immediate grief.

"I…I don't understand. I'm…just ordinary now? Ordinary Girl?" Her voice cracked as tears welled in her eyes and Giles took the remaining steps to his couch and took a trembling Buffy into his embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Buffy. We have no idea how this happened, but we believe it was magic." He felt her grasp at her throat and her resulting gasp of horror.

"Oh God," she sobbed. "I didn't think anyone would do anything to me while I was asleep." And she dissolved in his arms, leaving Giles with a wet shirt and a cracking heart.

"It'll be okay, Buffy. We'll work this out, I promise." As quietly as they'd spoken, he cringed when he heard the telltale sounds of the other guests in his house rousing from sleep. Giles pulled away from Buffy, gave her a reassuring smile and clasped both her hands in his. "We'll beat this—we always do." He just hoped he wasn't talking out of his arse.

"Oh Buffy, you're awake," Willow exclaimed, relief evident in the way she launched herself from her chair and into a hug with her friend.

Xander blinked stupidly before hurriedly joining them in a group hug like they'd not experienced in a long while—if ever. "No Anya," he qualified at Willow's raised eyebrow, then sighed a predicable manly-Xander sigh of pleasure.

"You had us really worried," Willow said, her voice still weakened from her battle with fear.

Buffy just shook. What could she say? She was loads worried about herself too—if pure hysterical terror counted as something as lowly as worry. She might look reasonably calm on the outside but inside she was screaming herself hoarse.

God, when did the fun stop coming? First Giles tells her he thinks Spike might be dead of the never coming back variety, and now she'd lost the one thing that was elemental to who she was. And it was completely her fault. Her fault Spike had left and her fault she'd been sucked up by the anti-slayer wonder spell that had stripped her of her powers. If Spike had been here right now Buffy had no doubts he would have thumped her, headache be damned.

And she'd totally deserve it.

Was she sick for wishing he was here? Somehow Buffy thought this shock might be a little easier to take if Spike was there snarking at everyone and calling her Slayer, totally ignoring the fact that she wasn't. Unless, of course, her not being a slayer anymore would completely remove his fascination with her and he was out of her life faster than she could say 'stake.'

She felt encompassed by darkness and so lost that Buffy worried if Giles could be even a little bit right, because finding her way home right now seemed impossible. Refusing to allow the negativity to swallow her whole, Buffy shrugged away the fear that Spike wouldn't want Buffy, Normal Girl, and resolved to find him.

"Giles?" She hated the scared, little girl voice that came out of her mouth, but the truth had to be stated out loud. "The Hellmouth is unguarded. We need someone strong enough to fight the demons."

Giles nodded in understanding. "I'm afraid we can't rely on Angel to help us with this. He's chosen to let his own people down when they need him the most." The watcher paused, waiting for the apprehension and fear to reach a higher pitch before he dropped the bombshell. "We need to locate Spike and convince him to come back to Sunnydale."

"We what? Did you swallow a cup full of crazy?" Xander exploded, his horrified reaction having him reel away from the group hug rather more forcefully than he'd expected. Willow stumbled before she fell backwards into the chair she'd just been sleeping in and in Buffy's weakened state, she collapsed on the floor in an undignified and unslayer-like heap.

"What other choice do we have?" Willow asked reasonably, her hands squeezed tightly together despite the forgiveness for Xander's abrupt action apparent in her smile. "We need someone who can actually fight vampires, Xan. If Angel's out of action for the good side, what other options are there?"

Xander collapsed defeated in the corner of the couch, took in Buffy's still collapsed form and then rushed to drag her up off the floor. "Sorry 'bout that," he offered sheepishly.

"No biggie. I was due for a swoon anyway," Buffy kidded, despite inwardly sagging even further with relief. Spike would agree to come and help her—provided they could find him.

"I'll go get Tara so we can try a locator spell. Does anyone have anything that was Spike's?" Willow looked at Buffy expectantly and the blonde flushed with embarrassment. The only thing she had was the amulet, and strictly speaking it was hers, just bought by Spike.

"I, er, have something," admitted Giles, and then he presented a pen—just a regular looking fountain pen in gold tone, but one that had obviously weathered a number of years with its owner. "He, uh, forgot to take it when he left." Giles whipped off his glasses so no one would feel the urge to quiz him about why Spike needed a pen. He still hardly believed it himself that the vampire had a beautifully old-fashioned script and a penchant for writing extremely sappy poetry.

"This'll work," Willow declared with a bright, confident smile. She took to the floor running and in less than a minute she was gone, leaving Buffy holding her breath in hope.

If only making her a slayer again could be so easy.


End file.
